


SYNTAX

by softstained



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:01:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softstained/pseuds/softstained





	SYNTAX

The drones of the train hovering above its track permeates the previously absolute silence in his private sphere, reminding him that he’s not alone in this world illuminated in the blue afterglow. In this skyscraper that overlooks the cityscape, his eyes are trained over the skyline, reminding himself of the true purpose that sinks into the peripheries of his mind. It’s nothing subconscious, just a visceral response to any thought that arises into his brain. It’s what he’s printed for, and so, his world revolves around it.

Expected, predictable.

Today’s forecast: dark skies wisped with the weight of another battle ignited. From where he’s standing amidst the quiet dwelling in his penthouse, Jongin can almost see the imaginary ember burning along the line of the horizon, painted red with the aftermath of the blow.

It’s said that there’s an opening in the government’s system, and that not everything in this utopia works as it should — something from within… strange, Jongin decides.

He’s come to comprehend this world from his birth, three years and thirty-four days ago, in ways that are infallible. And now, with the hums of the television whirring behind him, he partially fixates his attention on the low volume. He likes it that way; it helps him focus on the content without having to fully divert his line of thoughts. He likes it that way, too, having his thoughts to himself instead of projecting it. The blue afterglow of the city, along with the smearing sound of the train hovering above the track, passing by beneath him, reminds him of the projected lines of thoughts: it’s how his kin likes it these days. The latest technology allows them to mirror their thoughts back in a gossamer three-dimensional form, but Jongin likes it traditional.

He likes it in his head.

The walls, too, have eyes and ears. He likes having his own private sphere, in his head, ensuring that his memories, his mindscape, will still be pristine by the time he’s processed into the cremation when he expires in… he doesn’t want to exactly remember. Nexus 8.75 is getting outdated, and that’s a cold hard fact. The government has demanded for X-Machina to develop more Nexus 9, rebranding their products, especially since now the older versions of the Replica don’t seem to be trustworthy anymore.

He doesn’t understand why; the fact that Replicas turned their backs against their creators.

After more minutes spent on musing, standing inexplicably still, he determines it as an issue to think about for another day. For the night, his system needs a rest.

 

There’s a quiet whir that wakes him from his slumber, causing him to stir in discomfort. Something broke, his instinct seems to say, but his system doesn’t rouse immediately after slumber. Programmed to still resemble humans in some ways, he’s not entirely robotic in this, which he sometimes resents. It’s ineffective to have remnants of his dreamless sleep still clinging to his mind and body when he needs to react fast to the circumstances at times.

Not this time, perhaps. It’s just a broken machine, he can deal with it later. Blinks. Once, twice. He stares at the stark ceiling for a moment, sighing as he wills the lethargy away. The sound of glitch distracts him, beckoning for him to come. And for that, he eventually gets up from his bed. He shudders slightly at the cold of the seamless linoleum pressed against his bare soles.

It’s the air-conditioning system in the living room, producing such a weird noise. Jongin squints at the ventilation, in-between the stripes of the machine are utter darkness. There should be someone coming soon. 3:41AM, but some Replicas aren’t meant to recharge. Call themselves the Labors, that’s what they do, exactly. And each Nexus like him always has some in-charge for their comfort, it seems. He doesn’t remember all their names, but they cater to the needs of this building’s tenants.

His prediction is correct. Less than five minutes later, the soft ding of the door bell. He strides over the room to reach the door, opening it after ensuring that it’s not a complete stranger. He knows that the security system in this building wouldn’t allow breach, but there’s never any time to be too careful.

This Replica looks rather… cheerful, especially in this hour. He opens the door for him, and on the brushed chrome of his name tag, Jongin reads “Byun Baekhyun” in cold-pressed hangul, and a significantly smaller in size, all capital letters spelling “Labor”. A crinkle on Baekhyun’s temples as he greets, “Good morning. We Labors are doing manual check due to the updates on air-conditioning system.”

Jongin nods, not bothering saying anything. Steps aside to let Baekhyun in, watching as the man in the gray blue uniform walks into the vast of his living room. It’s always been too big, too lonely, yet it’s always unusual to have a company.

Not that he should count any Labor as a company — they come and go: walk in, do their work, walk out. And that’s what Baekhyun does, exactly.

He makes himself a cup of coffee, heading back to the living room to find Baekhyun already gone. Not that he doesn’t realize the quiet footfalls of Baekhyun’s exit, but he’d like to pretend, and bring two mugs of coffee. Sets one cup on the top of his coffee table, and sits on the edge of his sofa to enjoy his own.

Perhaps he really does need a company.

 

He arrives in the Nexus Headquarters less than three hours after, and even the broken air-conditioning system in the buildings become a fairly conversed topic. Jongin realizes that chitchat has never been their forte, and they yearn for something to talk about, sometimes. Alas, they’re not meant to indulge in superficial conversations, as their purpose is to engage with something far more significant: to keep humans at bay, ensuring the walls are as impenetrable as what their kin believes.

Well, their kin, and their creators and governments.

Any other humans are seen as perpetrators, and must be alienated outside the walls. But that’s not the only thought that occupies their minds nowadays, as Jongin has mused for days. Another meeting is being already arranged for the umpteenth time over this conundrum.

“Good morning,” Junmyeon’s face slips into Jongin’s thoughts bubble, bursting it.

Jongin turns around to face Junmyeon, staring as Junmyeon closes the door to Jongin’s office behind him. The Scientist has never learned to knock, after all, and Jongin is used to it. “Morning,” his answer to cordiality has always been brash, curt. “Any development from the company?”

The shake of head etches a frown in Jongin’s face. Junmyeon doesn’t need to be invited to sit, so he joins Junmyeon, sitting across him. Separated by the glass table designed carefully by X-Machina, Junmyeon taps the surface to activate its function. It casts the hologram instantly, turning on the computer system mirrored both ways. Glowing blue are lines that comprise the map of the Neo Seoul, 2149. The walls that enclose the city glow the brightest.

“We’re talking about renewing the walls,” Junmyeon states.

“That sounds premature.”

That ticks Junmyeon off, it seems, but then again humans have always been sensitive. It’s simply… odd, how Jongin is forced to interact with them all the time when they cannot seem to take his terse replies. He’s mostly made of logic, after all. He’s there to function, doing the job, not stroking Scientists’ ego. Junmyeon needed some time to understand that fact even though he was one of the most important figures in the company, and therefore was one of the people who contributed in designing Jongin’s version of Nexus.

“I mean, we were talking about inner threats,” Jongin adds, humoring the atmosphere slightly in spite of his own impatience.

“You’re right,” Junmyeon clacks his tongue against the palate of his mouth. “But then again, if we eliminate the source of threats from outside, we can deal with the inside threats more… effectively.”

Sounding rather hesitant, with all the pauses. Jongin doesn’t need to point that out, however. He’s certain that even Junmyeon berates himself for sounding that way in front of a Replica, supposedly of a lower caste than Scientists. He’s always been a perfectionist, too, so there’s that. Jongin has no time and effort to play with one’s emotional turmoil either, so he lets it be.

“That can be an additional step,” Jongin comments, “but that’s not addressing the issues immediately. We need direct contact to avoid collateral damage. The sooner, the better. To stall ourselves with the sidesteps would be rather unwise.”

Junmyeon seems to agree notwithstanding his not saying it out loud. Humans’ pride, another puzzle that Jongin has yet to comprehend.

“All right, then,” Junmyeon enlarges the map, zooming into the spots that are now pulsing orange. The first damage was done nearby the wall, the second a little bit farther. Occurred approximately three weeks ago, the walls have been strengthened twice since, until they came into the conclusion that it might not be from outside, but from inside. “If that’s the case, we can… start with the base survey.”

“One by one?” Jongin quirks an eyebrow, slightly amazed by Junmyeon’s way of thinking. A bit too smart for his own good, he seems to race with his own mind in terms of making decisions — sometimes the world cannot keep up with Junmyeon, but most of the times it’s the other way around.

“Indeed,” Junmyeon says. “We’ll need the Nexuses’ help.”

Jongin nods, believing that it’s verbose as always. The meeting is unnecessary — the decisions from the higher-ups are never requests. They don’t need to be communicated personally, but it’s Junmyeon — he likes killing time, ensuring that the messages are relayed properly by himself.

“It’s an order,” Jongin summarizes for the both of them.

“I’ll trust you with this.” Junmyeon gets up from the chair, and hums at Jongin as he peruses the Replica. “You’re one of our best assets.”

 

Assets. Of course, but Jongin has never said anything when it comes to that — he’s never had to. It’s what he’s printed for, and so that’s what he becomes.

He doesn’t give it a lot of thought either, knowing that it would be a waste of energy. Just dives straight into the order, committing himself to it as usual. He refocuses everyone’s tasks from where he’s seated, computer overworking with the holograms reacting to his fingers as he types in new orders, reallocating the Nexuses.

And frankly, he doesn’t understand the base checks — used to identify all Replicas as their actual identities. He doesn’t understand the purposes behind redoing it while it’s not that time of the year yet, wasting time and resources. If the attacks were done by the Replicas, after all, all the base checks would mean naught.

That is, until the base check in one area doesn’t check out.

 

He first sees the face when he arrives at the secured area. The downpour outside has receded, but it still leaves specks of rainwater in the dark of his uniform, and the person’s, too. Beads of fresh water glimmer on the stranger’s Nexus coat.

“You’re guarding this area alone,” Jongin simply says. “You’re not supposed to.”

The other Nexus tilts his head sideways. “The rest is inside. The human that managed to sneak into the border is rather… violent, so they’re restraining her. I don’t think we’re supposed to kill her just yet. Not until you come.”

Jongin raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t recognize the man, yet the man surely does recognize him as the last line of defense among the Nexuses — a higher-up, in short. “And you are?”

“You can scan me,” the man retorts, not moving an inch from his purposed station.

He hates being disobeyed, having his questions disregarded, but he doesn’t have time to squander on arguments with his fellow Nexus. He takes out his orb, still glowing white to show him the time ( 4:23PM ), and scans the stranger. Oh Sehun, Nexus 5. An old model, a first line of defense. It’s rather uncharacteristic for lower classes to defy him like that, but Jongin shrugs it off, entering the establishment.

The remodeled police station is now a base checking station, and from the way the interior is structured, it wasn’t prepared for any confrontation. It’s now a mess; the woman who snuck into the border was persistent enough to make few attempts on escape, it seems. She’s now surrounded by the first and second liners, and upon his arrival, they part to make way for him.

The woman is in a Labor uniform. The chrome name tag reads a name that Jongin doesn’t bother paying attention to. “I’m a Replica, I swear,” the woman spits the words from behind her gritted teeth. Thinning hair, older version. Some Replicas are meant to age, like her, but he doesn’t find her claim believable. “I have my series checked. I’m not human.”

Jongin squints his eyes slightly, not saying anything as he observes the woman. He scans her with his orb, and the name and series number check out, but it’s not what concerns him. For everyone to quickly assume that she’s a human instead of an erred Replica raises an inquiry in his mind; the base check, after all, is not everything. Even the most authentic Replicas commit mistakes from time to time, causing suspensions.

But this, this is what Jongin reads as a product of fear.

“Your base didn’t check,” Jongin reinforces.

The woman falls silent, but it’s never characteristic of the Labors to talk too much unless it’s about the technical of their job lines. She looks down from where she’s being tied to the chair, and in the room that smells like sterile, Jongin reminds himself of visiting a prison.

“She’s not human,” Jongin decides for now, and he can feel his subordinates looking at each other in a baffled manner. His job, however, is to disperse any kind of paranoia, which is exactly what contracts the Replicas right now, even the Nexuses. Especially the Nexuses, for they’re the ones knowing about the attacks firsthand. He wonders if the information will soon spill into the mass, painting hysteria all over the public’s responses, but that’s not a worry for now. “Lock her in.”

 

In here is the claustrophobic confinement of his own thoughts, and he doesn’t think too much about the weight of his own mess until it confronts him. Smothering, in a sense, and so he grabs his leather jacket from the hanger, heading out of the penthouse and towards the rooftop bar.

Upon exiting the indoor and into the open dome under the midnight skies, he watches as the artificial stars blink sluggishly on the otherwise pitch-black expanse. Lets out a hum, and leads himself towards the inner area of the entertainment space, where women gawk and men stare at him. It’s been a common norm, after all, for a certain Nexus type to be some people akin to celebrities amidst the other Replicas, and even humans. Especially when he’s a part of the army, of course, filled to the core with violence that makes him even more coveted.

And Kim Jongin’s name is a whole brand in itself, fulfilling the fantasies of people regardless of their genders. Often written on blogs with his achievements being the spotlight, he doesn’t truly disappoint with his looks either, and it shows by how the spectators watch as he meanders through the crowd to make his way towards his favorite bartender.

Jongdae has always known his favorites, the concoctions made for him specifically have never failed to amaze Jongin. He settles himself atop a bar stool, ordering the usual for a starter. “Long night?” Jongdae inquires, an eyebrow raised. He smiles a bit, and he smiles in a rather funny way for Jongin — he has this lopsided dimple on his cheek, with his grin forming a full-fledged square upon being tugged.

“No,” Jongin shakes his head, and when his vodka comes, he cups his hands around the short glass, trying to let the condensation cool his skin — and hopefully, mind. He doesn’t mind Jongdae’s prying sometimes; he needs the company, after all. The company that isn’t anyone close to X-Machina, definitely. Or worse, the government. He’s had enough of that from day to day jaunt.

“Oh, you look worn,” Jongdae comments, rapping his fingers on the bar top, as if waiting for Jongin to spill something good.

“I am,” Jongin’s voice gets lower, letting the chatter from outside their private sphere to interrupt the conversation, if it could be called as such. “But it wasn’t a long night. Just… a lot of thinking.”

“About what?” Jongdae tilts his head sideways, inquisitive.

Jongin heaves a sigh. “Nothing,” he speaks, and while there are people queueing at the bar, nobody seems to dare disturb their interaction. It’s Jongin, after all — his name has always carved fears in people, knowing too well that despite his pretty boy appearance, he’s anything but merely that. “Just… give me more of the usual. Or mix me something new.”

Jongdae chuckles. “All right, all right.” He starts working, grabbing his utensils in a rapid succession. “Take it as you don’t want to say… but I guess. We all need to keep to ourselves sometimes… or, in your case, most of the time.” Snatches two bottles after slamming the metallic glass onto the surface. Jongin has always enjoyed his performance whenever he’s mixing some drinks — Jongdae always seems to capture his audience as though he were performing some magic tricks. “Being a soldier is… always hard. I applaud you for keeping us safe. And respect you for it, too.”

Jongin offers a small smile in return. It’s always good to hear that he’s appreciated, to say the least.

He doesn’t really register what’s going on around him, although that would be an underestimation for his hyperawareness. He knows what’s going on, he just chooses to not pay attention to it, until a flash of a familiar face walks into the scene.

At that, he turns around, levelling his gaze at the person. Oh Sehun, and his noticing the stranger seems reciprocated when their gazes meet. Off-duty, Sehun is still wearing all black, like how most Nexuses prefer to assert their position as one of the highest castes in the new world. He’s about to look away, not feeling like socializing when Sehun approaches him instead.

He occupies the free stool next to Jongin’s, much to his dismay. Jongin ignores him.

“Kim Jongin, Sir,” he starts the interaction after ordering his drink from Jongdae — who recently finished mixing Jongin’s — embedding resentment in Jongin. The addition to his name sounds almost derisive, but Jongin scratches it off as another episode of his being… sensitive. As much as he hates to admit it, he still has those moments, for to resemble humans’ inner workings the company has to implement feelings, which are chemical reactions that help balance the way Replicas function. But that’s besides the point, his thoughts are digressing. Nevertheless, Sehun doesn’t say anything further.

He takes a sip of his drink as Sehun does, and it irks him more. It’s almost as if Sehun mimics his moves to mock him.

“You’re not supposed to be here either,” Jongin eventually speaks up, pent-up frustration building within just needs to be suppressed as soon as possible and he doesn’t see how but this.

Sehun doesn’t reply, but Jongin can see the obvious glint of amusement through his peripheral view. “We’re off duty now,” he replies solemnly, taking another swig of his drink. “I don’t think I’m supposed to ask about the poor woman.”

A scoff escapes Jongin. “You know the answer for that one.”

“It wasn’t a question either.” Sehun’s voice is half-drowned in the cacophonies the the open air echoes, but the tone is still clear to Jongin. He’s not a higher Nexus for nothing; and for that, he’s irrevocably annoyed by the blatant lack of respect displayed by the first-liner.

Jongin decides it’s not worth the banter, so he downs the remaining of his drink in one-go, and leaves the rooftop bar.

 

He cannot rest, system somewhat alive with what he believes to be the stream of overflowing energy, and he always detests it whenever it happens. Humans back then coined the term ‘insomnia’, and it is perfectly synchronized with his current condition. It doesn’t happen a lot, but he’s a type of machine, and he’s bound to have glitches. He’s wondering if it’s an intentional defect although he’s quick to dismiss the thoughts — that would be stupid, for the company to go out of their way and create flaws that impede their machines’ functionalities.

1:18 AM. He should’ve been fast asleep at this time of the night, but the thought of both the case and the subordinate are having a chokehold around his mind. In this clockwork made of too many cogs, he tries to calm his thoughts. Minutes tick some more, he bears no fruition, so instead of calming, he tries processing.

Doesn’t understand the entirety of this: how paranoia induces itself so effortlessly in Nexuses’ veins when they’re the ones created without supposed feelings, unless they’re conducive for their work to keep the humans outside the walls. They are supposed to not feel pain, remorse. Rather impatient, but intense feelings have never got in the way of their work. At least that’s what the idea is, as far as he knows from mingling with Junmyeon whenever necessary.

So, for him to actually feel exasperation intense enough for him to mull over it even after the passing hours — it’s kind of unrealistic. Doesn’t comprehend the cause of this. He identifies the feelings, knowing what they are based on the knowledge implanted into him since the conception and printing. Lets out a huff as he hoists himself into a sitting position and runs his hand through his unkempt locks.

It’s late, he has nowhere to go. The bar is out of option. Too crowded, too full of attention. He needs somewhere that can occupy him. Quiet enough, but not suffocating like his room.

 

The Training Center is open 24/7, much to his gratitude. At this hour, there are only Labors left, cleaning. Some Nexuses occasionally go after hours, honing their skills. In a compound structured in stratifications, there’s no rest for the weaker. Life is a competition, and Jongin knows it in an intimate level. He’s been on the lower, albeit never lowest. He was birthed by the hands of the best Scientists, printed accordingly that he commenced his life as the sixth defense. To climb his way up until the twelfth and the last, however, was a matter of perseverance, filled with blood and sweat. But that’s where the respect came — Nexuses could relate to the endeavors placed in the competition, and for Sehun to disrespect him—

“You’re around late,” Kyungsoo’s voice nearly startles him. If there’s anyone who could catch him off-guard, it would certainly be Kyungsoo.

“So are you,” he replies, clearing his throat. Kyungsoo smiles in reply to that, and gaffe ensues, for a reason that Jongin fails to conceive at the moment. Kyungsoo is one of his direct creators, after all, so he feels a sense of high respect towards him. “Hyung,” he adds a second too late, hoping that it doesn’t diminish the sense of regard.

“No need to be so tense, Jongin.” There’s a pinch of amusement in his intonation, reminding Jongin of the encounter happened early that night. “I’m just checking the training data of latest Nexuses. Couldn’t sleep? Your system was designed for a good night’s sleep.”

Jongin nods, unsure as to what to say. He is always tongue-tied whenever he’s around Kyungsoo.

“Something strange happened today,” Kyungsoo adds. “But it’s nothing to worry about. It’s been taken care of by the company. We dismantled her.”

“Ah.” Being dismantled prior to their date is expiry is like being murdered, and for that, Jongin feels a hint of sympathy, but not enough to call it as such. “Why didn’t she touch the base?”

“There’s a known virus that we’ve been studying in the company. It’s nothing to worry about,” Kyungsoo places a hand on Jongin’s shoulder to give him a reassuring squeeze. Jongin nods, and watches as Kyungsoo disappears behind the double doors closing automatically.

Still, in spite of believing in what Kyungsoo said, he cannot help the restlessness that still resides within. Makes his way towards the main training chamber, only to catch the sight of his aggravation’s source. Sehun is practicing in a simulation room, wearing the goggles to support his training system. From the small glass window on the door, Jongin watches him and his every move.

Much to his surprise is a set of smooth movements, like water. Like a dance — which isn’t very likely of Jongin to be rather… poetic, in a sense. He’s not an Artiste, not meant to appreciate and recreate artistic products for entertainment purposes. Still, there’s no way to describe it but that.

He ensures that Sehun doesn’t catch him within the vicinity, silently noting the differences between his own and Sehun’s. It must be the way Sehun’s kin was designed, and if it was outdated from the production, it must be for the fact that it was obsolete. Not as effective as Jongin’s version, and Jongin cannot help but want to test himself against Sehun.

That would be too much of a downgrade, nevertheless. He’s a last defense; to level himself with a first-liner means to taint his own reputation.

For that, he decides to merely walk away, towards his initial destination. The night is definitely going to be long and winding, with the plethora of thoughts that rinse the forefront of his mind.

 

The next few days are quiet, almost gloomy. The skies often find itself splattered in monochromatic hues, and from both his office and home, Jongin feels the weight of the terror climbing the way the clouds stomach the rains. There were reports of more Replicas not touching the base check, but at least the suspicions of their being humans have been dissolved. They were taken to the facilities already, dismantled to be studied. A virus, as the news on the televisions and orbs would say, diffusing the previously thick haze of paranoia rising from the parties who discovered about it.

“You’ve been locking yourself in here for days,” someone says, and again, becomes the disruption to his musing. Jongin gives a look at the Labor, and he remembers him as the person who fixed the air-conditioning system last week. “Sorry, did not mean to bother. It’s just… unusual, to share a room with you for such a long time.”

“A long time,” Jongin echoes, and he wants to be rude, but he doesn’t like stooping as low in the mannerism department. Unlike most Nexuses his class, he doesn’t deal too well with ill behaviors, which is why he doesn’t want to behave as such either. “You’ve only been here for twenty-three minutes.”

Baekhyun is stunned by the precision, eyes wide as he stops his duty for a moment. He’s in the midst of dusting the glass shelves. “You have a built-in clock?”

A chuckle, which is refreshing. He hasn’t felt this jovial for the past days, his chest tout in the height of the tension. “I’ve been in the army for so long, I’m conditioned to approximate the time. Not a built-in clock, no.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, seemingly amused himself. He doesn’t speak more afterwards, but Jongin feels that this silence is somewhat unsettling, and that he craves for more contact, if that could be counted as such. Labors, after all, are the least respected, the least appreciated, in spite of the burden they carry in terms of roles.

“How old are you?”

That startles Baekhyun slightly. The man is quite petite in frame, considerably shorter than Jongin. He’s almost drowned in his light-colored uniform, even though it’s made to fit the body for efficiency. Small-eyed, square-grinned. He’s more familiar than Jongin thought he was.

“Supposedly twenty-three,” he speaks. “I think we’re of the same age… I was printed six years ago, though.”

Right, Jongin thinks. The Labors have a more extended lifespan compared to the Nexus, which keeps being renewed. Unlike Nexuses, Labors have evolved to their full use; their algorithm easier to figure out than soldiers whose jobs also develop over time. With the humans outside the border constantly rioting to dethrone the alienating system, their tasks also change. There’s a whole difference in dynamics between them, which perhaps renders the Nexuses feeling entitled.

“I don’t know my age,” Jongin says as he makes himself comfortable in one of the armchairs. “It doesn’t matter. I was printed three years ago, but that’s it.”

“It doesn’t? Well, so you don’t celebrate birthdays?”

Baekhyun’s piqued curiosity entertains him. “Birthdays?” Jongin repeats. The concept is almost foreign for him, to celebrate birthdays. Then again, he recalls that not all Replicas work the same way. Or, well, Nexuses don’t work the same way as other Replicas. Their feelings are most diminished, suppressed. They’re not granted with companies, unlike other Replicas who are made to resemble humans as closely as possible, as long as they fulfill their tasks well — their definition of efficacy is certainly different. “We don’t really have friends and families to celebrate that kind of occasion, so no.”

Baekhyun stops his activity altogether now, looking at Jongin. Good thing he’s a Nexus, so what’s built-in: reading body languages to predict the next moves, mostly important in battles and fights. Otherwise, Baekhyun’s expression would be indecipherable. He looks almost sad, which is a bit risible for Jongin.

“You don’t have friends and families. That’s just—“Baekhyun stops himself prior to saying the word, but Jongin knows for sure what it is.

“We’re fine. We don’t need those.”

 

The next moment he meets Sehun again is during the compatibility test — that’s how it’s called, but in actuality, there’s no compatibility involved. The Nexuses are pitted against the latest edition to test their strength, agility, reflexes. Statistics. It’s brutal when it’s needed, and while most Nexuses love attending it for the sake of entertainment, Jongin doesn’t indulge in such performances. He’s only called there for what they would consider a peculiarity: how a Nexus 5 constantly beats the series 9. Jongin doesn’t need to ask for details to know who he is.

When he walks into the so-called auditorium, the crowd is cheering. Filled with memorable faces from various categories of Nexuses as well as other Replicas, the hall is far too overpopulated for his liking. But it doesn’t matter. He’s here for a purpose.

He watches him with careful eyes, trained. In here is a man that’s too new for the case of riot, a man that’s too… inexperienced, to say the least. But then again, the man seems to handle the situation well. Too well, even. Jongin furrows his eyebrows, wanting to understand where even the concept of “too well” came from. There was no such a thing before, never such a thing. Replicas, both old and new, are usually falling short from his expectations as opposed to the other way around, having been printed as one of the most perfect Replicas out there.

As Jongin’s predecessor, Sehun’s prototype shouldn’t have been this effective. He’s not meant to be this efficient when it comes to fighting. He was meant to be robotic… yet humane.  
The older versions were, once, used to cater human needs, after all. And humans love company the way they love their miseries. The older Nexuses were meant to be more precise when it comes to feelings, but never in actions. But Sehun… he definitely has underestimated this Replica. Jongin shakes his head, almost too visibly, but he ensures that nobody is paying attention to him, to his building anxiety.

No, anxiety shouldn’t be the right word. He’s never meant to feel at all, so such a theory should dissolve as soon as it arrives. He never fears. He never disappoints either.

If so, what does he feel threatened for?

Jongin doesn’t understand. Swallows. Once, twice. Peruses Sehun’s every move again, witnessing the way Sehun knocks down the Nexus 9 again. It’s almost irrevocable for Jongin to feel this way, it seems, and he despises admitting to it, if at all.

His company seems to relish in the show; it’s a distraction for them, as always, but it never is for Jongin. He’s a body of apprehension, tightening his crossed arms around each other as to try and release the tension slightly, but to no avail. Sehun moves again, striking the opponent, and he realizes that even though the Nexus 9’s movements are more calculated, Sehun’s is more fluid. It’s almost as if there’s… an art to it. It feels more like a dance than a fight for Sehun. His judgment regarding Sehun’s style stands.

Which, in turn, perplexes Jongin.

It’s systematic, yes, the movements have always been systematic. Sehun is definitely meant to be placed in the front line of defense, and for that, Jongin can see why he was designed and printed as such. But this is something else. Something is… off. He cannot pinpoint what, but—

“Are you paying attention?” Junmyeon asks suddenly, almost startling Jongin. But Jongin is never startled, he doesn’t have it in his system as he’s always been designed to be hyperaware of his surroundings, perceiving the next moves, the next words.

“Yes,” he nods. “He’s… too good to be placed in the front line.”

A frown. He dislikes it when Junmyeon does that, for it can only mean a thing or two. Junmyeon has always been an easy read — he’s never been too deep to read. “Well, he was designed as such,” he comments. That’s how Junmyeon has always been, always following the blueprints, manuals. What’s printed as such needs to be as such. There’s no room for movement, almost. No room for fluidity. There’s no space spared for other possibilities, and for that, Jongin nearly scoffs.

He’s, after all, summoned to the Training Center for a specific reason, and the reason is definitely not to indulge in Junmyeon’s shallow thoughts. “Prepare him for a trial,” Jongin decides. “He might be good for us. And no, not as the first line of defense.”

 

He’s worn, heading straight back home after that, but apparently the day hasn’t ended for him there. He recognizes the man from his back alone, hunched over as he consumes his food in a ramen bar. An open-ended story, it seems, so Jongin decides to approach as he dislikes how fate seems to play with him. Coincidences are too much of a pain, and running from the problem makes him feel like a coward.

His steps come to a halt when he’s close enough, and Sehun turns his head just in time for Jongin to wedge a gap enough to avoid discomfort. In the air, the wafting scent of ramen bothers him — it’s never the ideal rendezvous point, if it could be called as such, with the distractions rendering the lack of focus amass. He shoves his hands into his coat’s pockets, eyes trailed over Sehun’s looks.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sehun speaks, looking fatigued. He ignores Jongin, then, and returns his attention to his bowl of ramen. Jongin sighs, and settles on the seat next to Sehun. Outside, the drizzles start to pour.

“You’re asked for a trial,” Jongin informs, although it’s more of a restatement. He’s sure Sehun has been told.

“Yeah. Rejected it,” Sehun replies nonchalantly, and at that, Jongin looks at him is disbelief. “I’m happy with my station.”

“That’s stupid,” Jongin scoffs. Again, with the few people that manage to catch him off-guard, Sehun surprisingly starts turning into one of them. “You’re too good for the first line.”

“Nah,” Sehun says in the midst of chewing, causing Jongin to grimace at the lack of mannerism. “It’s the Nexus 9. They’re too weak.”

Furrows his eyebrows in displeasure. “You’ve disobeyed your orders for too many times. Now you’re doing it again.”

“What orders?” Sehun chuckles after swallowing. “You can just say I’m disrespecting you for too many times, and we can settle it at that.”

Jongin finds himself clenching his jaw, anger seeping into him. Sehun just ticked at the area he’s been rather… sensitive about. To be distinctive from other Nexuses, to be differentiated from their arrogance. Sehun points out that there’s no such a concept, apparently.

“If that’s your perception, then I guess.” What a feeble, fallible response, but he cannot seem to muster something else. He doesn’t want this to demand anger from him; while anger is the driving force for Nexuses, the only 'emotion' that they were specifically designed to imitate, he doesn’t believe that it would assert anything. That would only prove Sehun’s point further, so he chooses to leave.

 

His last encounter with Sehun has carved a mark that he cannot forget just like that — it’s constant, almost certain. There’s something about Sehun that he isn’t sure as to what, but really nags at the back of his head. There’s something wrong with Sehun; maybe it’s the fact that there’s nearly almost a whole four different generations spanned between them — that means a good few years, and that means the fact that Sehun has managed to escape his radar is also rather peculiar in itself. He must’ve been in active duty when Jongin first started off, even though Jongin has never been placed that low in ranking. He must’ve…

The sound of the doorbell rouses him back to reality, and he groans, opening his eyes. Insomnia has been another disease for last night’s consumption, and the shut-eye is necessary. Perhaps it’s the issue that he chose to indulge. He shouldn’t have let Sehun get under his skin.

A frustrated sigh as he picks himself from the couch, heading towards the door. It must be—

No, not Baekhyun.

He squints into the peephole in spite of the clear view that it already provides. There must be a glitch with the camera; an illusion, but Jongin chooses to not question this any longer. He swears if this is just the glitch in his brain—

Opens the door harshly to find Sehun still standing there. It’s no optical illusion or worse, a malfunction in the system. Jongin’s gaze towards Sehun is indubitably filled with hostility he can feel it burn into his own eyes.

“What do you want?” Jongin doesn’t bother with masking his annoyance this time. Sehun is off duty, as told by the lack of uniform, replaced by a black turtleneck and black jeans.

At that, Sehun tilts his head sideways, and the expression Sehun is wearing makes Jongin have to retain all of his willpower to not punch Sehun square in the jaw.

“Mucking up to your superior is no longer on trend now?”

Jongin lets out a scoff. “What good would it do you, now?” he retorts. “You don’t want to climb the rank.”

“Oh, that’s not my only agenda,” Sehun says, chuckling quietly. “I’m not that shallow.”

“Right. I don’t have time for this,” Jongin lets out a curt, dry laugh. Sarcasm, fatigued.

“I just want to make it up to you,” he speaks again before Jongin can close the door on Sehun. “I’ve been… well, annoying, to say the least. Perhaps a drink or two upstairs?”

A look of disbelief. Again, Jongin doesn’t like the feeling of being taken aback, and he’s doing his best to cover it up from Sehun. It will look bad in his resume, to be caught off-guard by a first-liner. He doesn’t feel like turning down the offer on the base of his vexation towards Sehun would look good either, however — that would only prove Sehun’s taciturn point on his being the same as other mighty Nexuses true.

When he finds himself agreeing to the offer, still, he finds a sense of discomfort nestling in his chest.

 

And somehow it turns to become a habit, coming to the rooftop bar just to have a drink with Sehun. It’s been five consecutive nights in less than two weeks since the first time, and they didn’t converse much at first. But it gradually changes; Sehun isn’t as insufferable as he was prior, and for that, Jongin is grateful — not quite it, no, but it’s the closest word to express his feelings towards the changes.

He almost forgets that there’s a riot outside the fortress, the walls that shroud them a fictional truth, a dystopic lie. He almost forgets that there’s more to his life than just this, but Sehun seems like a good distraction. A good company that he didn’t know he’d need.

Even Jongdae seems rather amused by the change even though he keeps it to himself, concocting drinks for the both of them as they come. It’s been a day elongated with the width of pressures placed upon them Nexuses; there’s another breach, and while it’s possible for the walls to be broken from the outside, chipped from its outer shell, there was also rupture from within.

Sehun is obviously beat from having to guard around the area as they fixed the walls, and this time, Jongin has offered for them to hang out, hoping to help Sehun unwind. Even machines like them need their breaks.

For some reason that Jongin doesn’t even remember, they end up being on another rooftop — a quieter one, overlooking the cityscape with their feet hanging over the ledge. It was Sehun who initiated for them to talk somewhere less crowded — Sehun probably was too tired to exert more energy just to talk, but apart from that, Jongin doesn’t recall why he agreed. 

 

 

 

He’s not entirely sure as to what he’s expected from Sehun’s body, but upon confrontation, he can clearly see the fading wounds marring the body, like floral wallpapers. The bruises, typically covered in whatever technology and clothing that Sehun has seemingly managed to get his hands onto, are for Jongin to see in all its clarity. It’s too humane, and Jongin is certain that no product should have this kind of defect — they’re, after all, not meant to become Humanicas. They were and are designed for efficiency, for battles. It’s not their job to entertain the Scientists with how mundane they can be, donning vulnerabilities to the point where it becomes risible. For Jongin, the display of such a weakness is almost uncalled for. But then again, it’s not Sehun who invited him in, and while it’s not supposed to nag at his conscience — he’s never meant to have one — he feels guilty for intruding, to say the least.

Alas, he’s not here to indulge his own feelings. Pushing every smidgen of emotional calamities he’s been facing for weeks to the end of his thoughts, he advances, and that’s when Sehun pivots on his heel in spite of the silence cusped within the moment. Jongin’s steps have always been quiet, but Sehun has also been focused to his surroundings. Or perhaps, just perhaps, this is the malady that people call ‘paranoia’. Humans suffer from that — he knows it when he sees it. Has never related to it, however. Or has he?

“Fuck,” Sehun’s voice is nearly inaudible, cursing under his breath, barely mouthing the word. Still, for Jongin’s ears, it’s crystal clear. And when Sehun pulls a gun in a matter of milliseconds, hand trembling as his finger hovers nearby the trigger, Jongin feels a pang of hurt.

“Relax,” his own voice sounds distant to him. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

There’s a flash of amusement running across Sehun’s countenance — more sarcastic than not. “I’m not here to be hurt either,” he says. “I’m not expecting you to hurt me… I’m expecting you to… well, be a witness to something that you shouldn’t have seen.”

“So, you know what I think you are.” His tone is calm, subdued. He stops shifting his weight from foot to foot, which he didn’t realize he was doing. “If that’s the case, you shouldn’t have waited to actually kill me, right?”

Sehun scoffs. “I’m not stupid. Replicas like you aren’t meant to not tell,” he speaks louder, clearer, causing the voice to echo in that small bathroom. “But you did not. Waiting for the right evidence, aren’t you? But you’ve got it, and instead of capturing it you just stood there. Why?”

At that, Jongin laughs, sounding foreign to himself. “You’re definitely not stupid,” he concedes. “You’ve done enough research on the Replicas, haven’t you? Especially since you’re parading as one. Wondering what you did to the actual Replica to gain his place.”

“You’re digressing,” Sehun points out, finger drawing closer to the trigger.

“I know, but you have questions about me the way I have questions about you,” Jongin says, and raises his hands in a sign of defeat. “I don’t do things I’m supposed to do. Doesn’t that make you… wonder, human?”

At the mention of his identity, Sehun almost winces. Jongin catches that with ease, confirming his own suspicions. It’s never difficult with humans, but Sehun has done an exquisite job at masking that so far. He’s been unreadable — and towards Jongin nonetheless, who’s been an expert at reading even fellow Replicas.

“And I haven’t planted this bullet into your head and cut you up into pieces either,” Sehun retaliates. “Doesn’t that make you wonder as well, Nexus 8.75? Kim Jongin, printed three years and eighty-four days ago. You’re supposed to be the best in your field. Turns out you’re not free from defects either, are you?”

“Ah,” Jongin clacks his tongue against his palate. “That’s what you did to the Replica.”

“Is that supposed to concern you? Thought losing a comrade means naught to robots like you.”

Jongin laughs. “Robots,” he repeats. “Such a harsh word in comparison. But yeah, I’m still waiting for you to pull the trigger. We’ve been answering questions with questions.”

“Again, I’m not stupid,” Sehun shakes his head, and after twirling the gun around his finger, he places it back onto the pile of his uniform. “You know how to dodge a bullet. You’re the last line of defense — there ought to be something worthy about that.”

 

It takes Sehun approximately four minutes and twenty seconds to put his gun down, relenting towards the fact that Jongin doesn’t truly mean to seize the evidence. His guard’s still up, however, and Jongin can sense his fear even from a good distance. 

 

And when Sehun begins to kiss him slowly, softly, Jongin feels like his knees are relenting to the weight of gravity. But before he can actually buckle down and succumb to the weakness, Sehun’s arm is wrapped around his waist, propping him as the thumb strokes Jongin’s chin, tilting it up further so that their kiss doesn’t break.

So this is kissing: previously a myth, now it still feels surreal. Jongin doesn’t know how to process the entire thing, but this is the utmost betrayal to his own morale, to his purpose. For any reason given, however, he cannot bring himself to care.

What matters is in this moment, with Sehun kissing him, lips to lips. There’s something warm prying his lips open, then, and at that, he simply follows the tacit instruction, humming against the open-mouthed kiss. Sehun’s breathing into him, their tongues meeting midway. It’s a soft hum from Sehun that rouses Jongin, causing him to almost lose his balance again. This feels like another moment of vertigo, when he’s not supposed to be vulnerable to illnesses. Then again, all of his knowledge is synthetic, so he knows what they are.

Maybe he should commend the X-Machina employees for making such a perfect, capable version of Nexus 8.75. Himself.

His past self from a few weeks ago wouldn’t think of it as such. It would think of it as a form of defect, still, but the present unveils the truth, and he’s wondering if the flaw in the product has always been intentional all along. 

 

The time is ticking, and in the afterglow of the skyline’s neon blue, he imbibes the sight of Sehun illuminated by the soft gleams. Sehun hums, prying his legs open, and at Jongin’s freezing, Sehun smiles awkwardly. Well, he looks tired, too, but he doesn’t really say anything until he breaks into a whisper. “I won’t hurt you,” he says. “I just… want to show you… how much you mean to me.”

Jongin looks at him, confused. “What do you mean? Do… Do humans do… this? To show how much someone means to them?”

Sehun nods, and he runs his palm across the seam of Jongin’s thigh. “We, humans, talk in gestures sometimes. I don’t think you’re designed to understand this, but…” he chuckles quietly. “Jongin, you’re so naïve.”

“I’ve never done anything like this before. Doesn’t mean I’m naïve,” he protests. “I’m just… not used to it. Just… show me already.”

“You’re tense,” Sehun says in return after a pause.

“Now I’m tense,” Jongin huffs. “How does one relax when… you know. This?”

“We just…” He eventually drops the topic, it seems, shaking his head. “Well, we don’t actually just do it — we kiss, we talk, before anything else. It’s awkward to just dive straight into it.”

Another furrow of eyebrows. He simply doesn’t comprehend the concept, if it’s a concept at all. It feels like something that he should… not study beforehand, which is even further into the ‘it’s not what he’s printed for’ area. But the voice at the back of his head doesn’t disturb him that much anymore, and Jongin believes that this is just another sign that he’s capable of being a fully sentient being. Emotional, functional.

Sehun sighs, and pulls his hand off Jongin’s skin. At that, Jongin frowns. “I like it there,” he speaks, looking at Sehun. He suddenly feels childish; not that he’s ever been a child.

There’s another low chuckle as Sehun places his hand back onto the skin, but while laying himself down in the bed next to Jongin. Sehun is warm, alive. “Well,” Sehun resumes the conversation as he makes himself comfortable on the spot. “It’s been a while since I had this kind of moment with anyone, so it’s really… not the best for me to show anyone this for the first time, let alone a Replica.”

A pang of jealousy. Jealousy, foreign. Jongin has never really felt such a surge of feelings before, and this is definitely not the same jealousy as the one when he was punched down by a higher-up, envying the strength that the other Replica had. “You’re not supposed to show a Replica this at all,” he sighs. “You really have a death wish, Sehun.”

“We all will die,” Sehun’s reply is almost immediate. “You will expire. Might as well make the most out of living while you can, really.”

Jongin hums in a tacit agreement. Humans truly think differently; he himself doesn’t really possess any purposes in life apart from what’s been written in his fate, if it could even be called as such.


End file.
